To Carry You To Me
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "I think... I think without you, things do not make as much sense." The seasons always change.


**note: **Happy Holidays everyone! Yes, it's actually me! As per my apparent tradition, it's 2am on Christmas Morning and I'm posting a fic. It's a big old muddle of my many cliches from the past year, but I hope you guys all enjoy it. The song quoted at the start, which kinda inspired the whole thing, is Winter Song by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson- if you don't know it, go look it up, it's really great. Thanks to Allison for her help with this, as ever, and if you celebrate it, Merry Christmas. Much love, Kiera.

**disclaimer: **I don't own it.

* * *

_december never felt so wrong  
cause you're not where you belong  
inside my arms_

* * *

"It snowed today," he murmurs down the phone, gloved hand slipping against the sleek metal of his cell. A shudder strikes him, the numb to his face reaching just the wrong side of painful, and as his feet glide dangerously on icy ground he feels frustration rise up in him. A gaggle of kids runs past, limbs flailing, and though the raucous laughter or apologetic grin sent hastily by the mother who chases afterwards would normally be enough to put a smile on his face, his heart just feels heavier.

"First of the winter. It's really heavy, you'd hate it. I'm thinking of taking a snowball up to the office and throwing it in McGee's face. You'd hate that too."

He laughs a little, wryly, glancing at the snow-littered ground before he looks up again, eyes locked on a Starbucks right ahead. It seems inviting even from across the street.  
"I miss you, Ziva. Come home soon."

Ending the call, he brushes past a woman in loudly clicking heels and dives into the cafe, hands plunging deep into his pockets in an attempt- any attempt- to keep warm. The scent of the coffee is strong; the warmth of the place almost tangible, but something still keeps a chill in the air.  
He can't help but think he'd feel fine if she were here with him.

* * *

"We keep missing each other." He hears as he walks into his apartment, smiling as she carries on in the voicemail. "It is warm here, and though I would not like the snow I think I could cope with it, yes?"

She trails off in her recording, uttering sentences for a minute or two in a tongue he can't process, and he slides onto his couch awaiting her return to faithful English. He hears a distant voice fade.

"Sorry," she says, a humour in her voice as opposed to the usual slow melancholy of her long-distance calls. He can almost see the smirk upon her lips and it fills him with longing happiness. "The holiday season evidently causes chaos here too."

There's a joyous laugh before silence descends, as he's found it so often does.

"And... I miss you too, Tony. They still cannot say how long this may take, just like they could not say when I left, but... please, wait for me? I am trying my hardest to come back to you as soon as I can, you must know that. I will, hopefully, talk to you later? Goodbye." She cuts off the voicemail rather abruptly and sadness seeps into his bones and freezes them. Tapping his phone on the coffee table a couple times, he kicks off his shoes, loosens his tie, and lies back against the too-cool leather of the couch.  
He knows he won't sleep in a bed that doesn't have her amongst its sheets.

* * *

"_God_ it's good to talk to you."  
Sighing, he leans back in his chair, the empty desk before him not quite such a taunting figure as it was just a few minutes before. The office hums around him in the afternoon sun but he might as well be alone; he pays nobody any attention, instead listening intently to the woman on the other end of the line.

"I know how you feel." she says, a smile in her words, and he chuckles lightly. He wonders what she's doing right now.

"I can't believe it's only been a couple weeks."  
He taps his pencil tiredly against his empty coffee cup, a distraction he knows he's only taken up in her absence.

"And hopefully it will only be a few weeks more."

Attention suitably caught, he sits up straight, pencil slipping from his grasp.  
"You heard?"

She laughs, giggles almost, and his stomach knots with sheer affection muddled with anxiety.  
"Yes. The operation should be completed on schedule- I should be home by... Christmas Eve?"

"Oh _god_, Ziva, don't let me get my hopes up if there's a chance—"

"Of course there is a chance, Tony. This is not an easy job," she says, her voice hardened suddenly, and his mouth dries up a little in confusion. "You know as well as I- something can always go wrong. But I am promising you now that I will _try_ and be home by then. I cannot guarantee it."

Swallowing, he clears his throat, scattered thoughts regrouping. "I'm sorry, Ziva. I just... Since you left I've been... so _confused_. I mean it's Christmas, but I haven't felt this way at Christmas for a long time. I really miss you."

He almost laughs and he doesn't know why.

She hums in thought, and he wonders if she even understands what he's saying.  
"I have been confused too. I think... I think without you, things do not make as much sense."

"Ziva?"  
She murmurs assent, quietly.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Tony. I should go, it's late. I will talk to you tomorrow, yes?"

"You bet." he says, but his voice comes out caught and it's more a whisper meant only for her.

And then she's gone with a dull click and the desk in front of him is taunting yet again.

* * *

She doesn't make contact with anyone for four days. It snows incessantly, the skies darkened daily by clouds, and he doesn't know when he last felt so miserable.  
Except, he does. She was on a plane halfway round the world with December looming just before them. It hasn't felt right since.

When she calls him on Day Five, his knees almost give out in thanks. He tells her he loves her over and over and she never tells him to stop. He's never wanted to hold her more.

* * *

Two days to Christmas Eve and he's drinking shitty eggnog in a loud bar with his teammates somewhere and his mind with his partner and nowhere else. There's been no definitive word, on her end or his, as to whether her mission is yet concluded, and his hope is sinking with every really terrible sip.

"I think I'm gonna marry her soon." he says, his heart tripping despite itself, and he whirls round only to find nobody paying attention anyway. Gulping down the rest of the glass in preparation for the cool December air outside, he pulls on his coat. "Yeah, I'm gonna marry her."

He leaves his team, wherever they may be, and heads back to his apartment in the dark and the snow and the cold. He really wants her to be home.

* * *

She shuffles toward him at the airport. There's happy holiday reunions all around them and it's like that scene in _Love Actually_ except the love of his life has a stitched cut on her forehead and is dragging a giant cargo bag behind her and he doesn't remember that part of the movie. To him, though, she's perfect.

"Hey." he murmurs when she reaches him, slipping his arms round her with ease. She rests her head on his chest heavily, heaving a deep breath before pulling back to look at him. Grinning uncontrollably, he brings a hand to her cheek.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you."

"I think I might have some."  
She kisses him, slowly, deeply, like they've got all the time in the world, and when they pull apart something clicks in his mind.

"It's Christmas Eve. It's snowing." He beams, his hand slipping into hers. She laughs.

"Correct."

"This feels _right_, yeah?"  
Only briefly catching her frown, he turns without waiting for an answer and tugs her to the exit, where headlights gleam in traffic lines and the snow falls in thick heavy flakes.

"It's good to be home." she says, voice raised as the bustle of the outside ebbs closer.

"Yeah, it is."  
It's only then he realises he feels like he's come home, too.


End file.
